


Speak

by endofadream



Category: Glee
Genre: Communication, Daddy Kink, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 14:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endofadream/pseuds/endofadream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Filled for the GKM--Kurt and Blaine are having sex and Blaine calls Kurt "Daddy."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speak

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt goes a little something like this: Kurt and Blaine are having sex and Blaine calls Kurt "Daddy." They don't talk about it. Blaine is embarrassed and ashamed that Kurt's discovered his kink. Kurt is freaked out because he assumes that if Blaine's developing a Daddy kink he's going to want to be with older men ( i.e. not Kurt.)
> 
> Eventually they talk it out.

It happens suddenly, like a thunderclap.

The afternoon is nondescript, a black-and-white coloring page with the only filled-in image the one of Blaine, on knees and elbows, underneath Kurt, his ass spread, open and willing, as Kurt fucks hard into him over and over, his muscles burning, his skin stinging, his lungs tight, constricted, as he gasps for breath and chases that elusive sweet heat.

How they got here is the nondescript part. Kurt isn’t even sure if he remembers it: everything now that they’ve finally explored past that final barrier has become a whirlwind of lust, of excitement mixed with potent, sour nervousness that still tinges everything that they do together. All he remembers is homework, spread pages and books of it, across the subtle tones of Kurt’s bedspread. He thinks that that all might be scattered on the floor, a modern art sculpture to the lustfully desperate, to the teenagers discovering how great sex is.

Blaine grunts, low and deep, and presses his forehead to the bed, then turns his head, dry little pants escaping his parted lips. Kurt watches as Blaine reaches out a hand, grabs at the sheets in a white-knuckled grip, draws them closer as his shoulders hunch and his eyes crease as they squeeze shut tighter. There is sweat beaded on his brow, glistening in the light. The room is stiflingly hot, and even the backs of Kurt’s knees are shown no mercy.

Kurt grips hard to Blaine’s hip, the other skating unsurely up the sweat-greasy, undulating plane of Blaine’s back. The muscle is knotted and corded under his touch, and Kurt feels the lengthening of it as Blaine arches, his torso bowing towards the bed. Kurt grips Blaine’s shoulder cautiously, anchoring himself as he redistributes his weight, raises himself up, straightens his back, and fucks back in at a different angle than before.

He feels immediately how Blaine tightens around him, how his body goes taut, trembling, and he _moans_ , long and high-pitched and keening in ways that Kurt hasn’t been able to draw out of Blaine yet. Kurt’s heart jolts, the heat low in his belly flaring dangerously, and it’s only by something short of a miracle that he keeps his orgasm at bay, holds off just a little longer as he picks up his pace, the punishing sound of their skin meeting with dull thuds and slaps echoing under their panting breaths.

“You like that, baby?” Kurt asks; he’s unable to fully catch his breath, sliding his hands up then down the lean lines of Blaine’s torso as he bites back the litany of filthy words that want to pour out of him like rainwater from a swollen sky. He lets his hands skim underneath, over Blaine’s chest and his sensitive (as Kurt had found out) peaked nipples. Blaine stutters pushing his ass up a little more as that hand twisted in the sheet draws them towards his body just a little more.

Kurt runs his hands up over Blaine’s thighs, the thick muscle of them, tight with exertion and that almost-there anticipation, and then up over the supple curve of Blaine’s ass. He grips Blaine’s cheeks in his hands, squeezes and pushes up as he looks down, watches the flushed-pink thickness of his cock going in and out of Blaine’s body.

Blaine whines out something, his eyes still closed. Kurt knows he’s close, has learned quickly that when Blaine begins to whine, panting out the breaths in between, he’s almost there.

Kurt sets his jaw, wetting his lips as he fucks Blaine harder, harder, until the bed is shaking, trembling at its foundation, and Blaine is completely alive underneath him, his body responding beautifully as it’s jarred with Kurt’s thrusts.

“Yes,” Blaine whines. He turns his head again, forehead back to the sheets, shoulders hunched up. He fucks back on every off-thrust, his skin rippling as his ass meets Kurt’s hips with sharp, sweat-sticky slaps. “ _Oh, yeah,_ yeah—oh god, Kurt, so close, please.”

He reaches a hand under himself, fist wrapping tight around his cock as he redistributes his weight, his hand unclenching from the sheets to prop his weight up. Kurt feels the pulls, feels the way Blaine clenches around him like he’s trying to push Kurt closer to orgasm.

Sweat gathers at the back of Kurt’s neck, _everywhere_ , and his hands find their way back to Blaine’s hips, gripping them hard as he fucks in over and over relentlessly, answering that unasked plea held in the timbre of Blaine’s sex-deep voice.

Blaine quickly goes still, the muscles in his back showing up as beautiful dents and grooves, sun-kissed valleys and mountains glistening with the beautiful morning dew of sweat. There’s a needle-fine whine lost in the air, hitching _oh, oh_ s, and as Blaine’s coming onto the towel Kurt had placed underneath him, his body suspended for a moment in that pleasure-bliss like a photograph, a word, strung-out and said in a childlike voice that Kurt has never heard before, hangs between them in the sex-thick air.

“ _Daddy_.”

——

They don’t say anything.

Kurt notices immediately the guarded look in Blaine’s eyes after he flips over, the careful, thin set to his lips and the dark furrow between his brows. Kurt carefully concentrates on sliding the condom off and tying it, like it’s the hardest thing in the world for him to do. Blaine quickly gets dressed, folding up the soiled towel and throwing it into Kurt’s hamper, and by the time Kurt throws the condom, wrapped in a tissue, into the trashcan, Blaine is sitting on Kurt’s bed like nothing had happened, not a single hair out a place and any tell-tale sex flush creeping and lingering on his cheeks.

Kurt longs to ask Blaine to just _talk_ about this so that they can set everything straight and decide what to do, but he can’t seem to make his mouth want to work, to form those words. Every time he looks at Blaine he sees despair in Blaine’s eyes, embarrassment in the rigidity and hunched-over way his shoulders are drawn in, and it locks Kurt’s jaw, seals his tongue to the roof of his mouth like some sort of spell.

The rest of their homework session goes by silently, and a full hour before Blaine had said that he’d needed to be home he begins packing up. Kurt follows him down the stairs without a word, tells him goodbye at the door and watches Blaine get into his car and drive away. They don’t kiss. They barely say anything besides _see you tomorrow_. There isn’t even an _I love you_ thrown in there for good measure.

Kurt heads back up to his room, but he doesn’t touch his still-unfinished history or his English homework. The room still smells like the primal, musky tang of sex, and he opens a window, shiver sat the rush of chilled air immediately sweeping over him. He curls up at the head of his bed, huddled in the pillows and absentmindedly smoothing the creases and curves leftover from Blaine’s fingers. He stares at the bookshelves, his eyes catching and lingering on one of the many framed photographs of him and Blaine.

Blaine’s voice, its pure, blissed-out quality, still rings in Kurt’s head, that name making Kurt blush hotly, and the way Blaine had said it, like he was the happiest, the most content, at the single moment in time, hasn’t escaped Kurt’s attention.

He knows what it is, what it means, but he doesn’t know what it means for _them_. Kurt has a hard time believing that Blaine sees him as that—or is that even how it goes? Does someone see the other _as_ a dad, or just as a…an authority figure, or something? How does Blaine see him?

Kurt bites his lip, shakes his head, and forces himself not to google it. If he googles it he knows that he’s going to find more than he wants, and it’s going to throw this all even more out of proportion. He isn’t sure how he’s staying this calm about it.

Since getting with Blaine it’s all felt like it’s going to be yanked out from under him in an instant, like he’s going to wake up and this is all going to be a dream, or _Blaine_ is going to wake up and realize that he’s with the wrong guy and that he can do better.

Kurt’s known for his irrationality, and this is no exception.

What terrifies him the most, and what he refuses to let himself dwell on for more than a few seconds at a time, is that if Blaine wants a—a _daddy_ , he’s going to want someone older, someone who could take care of him in that way. Someone who isn’t Kurt.

But he needs to know. He needs to find out. This is his boyfriend, and they had both promised to talk about any and every (potentially embarrassing) sex thing that was in their interests. Because Kurt is _not_ grossed out—he’d be loathe to admit it to anyone other than Blaine, but the idea of that kind of authority over someone, that power, turns him on with a sharp electric fizzle like a lightning bolt straight through his nerves.

He texts Blaine, telling him that he’ll be over at Blaine’s house tomorrow afternoon so that they can talk. The only thing that Blaine sends back in reply is a tiny-even-through-text _okay_.

——

“We can’t avoid this forever,” Kurt says in lieu of greeting when Blaine opens his front door. The air outside is blustery and cold, and Kurt can feel his cheeks slowly begin thawing and tingling as the warm air of the Andersons’ foyer wraps around him.

He turns around, watches Blaine slowly shut the door, his head down slightly, eyes downcast. He looks up only when Kurt says his name, and he bites his lip, looking resigned more than anything else. Silently he gestures upstairs towards his room. Kurt doesn’t have to ask; he knows that Blaine’s parents aren’t home. They never are on the weekends.

“We need to talk,” Kurt says once Blaine’s door is shut. The inevitable conversation looms heavy over the both of them. He looks around awkwardly, not knowing if he should sit down on Blaine’s bed, or the chair beside the bed, or just remain standing. It’s a strange feeling—he’s never felt so out of place in Blaine’s room before, even before they’d begun dating.

When he sees that Blaine still isn’t looking at him, Kurt steps over, grabs Blaine’s hands and says, softly, “Hey.”

Blaine finally looks up. His brows are drawn almost flat, and his eyes move as he searches Kurt’s face. “I’m sorry.”

Kurt can’t hold back the surprise in his voice when he asks, “Why are you sorry?”

Blaine sighs. “For springing that on you.”

“Oh, Blaine.” Kurt squeezes Blaine’s hands. “We both know that’s what happens during sex sometimes.” He strokes over Blaine’s knuckles. “Did I ever call you baby before we started having sex?”

Blaine scoffs, rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling, his shoulders slumping slightly as he lets himself get drawn in by the soothing movements over the backs of his hands. “That’s different.”

“They’re both just nicknames,” Kurt reminds him gently. He looks over towards the bed and asks, “Can we sit down?”

Blaine leads them, and he’s the first to speak once they sit, drawing his legs up Indian-style. “I should have told you,” he says.

Kurt just waits.

A deep breath, and Blaine looks over towards his TV. “It’s…kind of a long story. Or not. I was just embarrassed that you found out.”

“Why?” Kurt can’t help but asking, even though he can understand at least a little bit. He’s just genuinely curious.

Blaine rolls his eyes, but there’s no malice in it. “I called my boyfriend ‘daddy’ in bed. I think that calls for at least a little embarrassment. It’s not exactly like the world’s most common or accepted kink, especially since you know the relationship that I have with my dad.” He smiles, but it’s wan, barely more than a brief stretch of muscle, like a bird flexing its wings.

“I don’t think you’re searching for some quasi-fatherly relationship,” Kurt blurts out. His face immediately reddens, and he looks down, picks at invisible lint on his black jeans.

Blaine laughs, loud and genuine. “Thanks, Kurt. I’m glad you don’t think that.”

Kurt chances a glance up; Blaine’s smiling. It loosens the tightened muscles in his shoulders, makes him a little braver as he asks, “So why didn’t you talk about it yesterday after it happened?”

Blaine shrugs like it’s no big deal, but there’s a twitch in his jaw as he sets it. “I was ashamed that it happened like it had. And really, really embarrassed. I was hoping to tell you in a normal, calm manner, but it just—you were too good yesterday.” His cheeks flood red, and his voice is timid as he asks, “Did you—did you…come? I know I kind of just—shut off after that happened.”

Kurt’s cheeks burn as he nods, drawing his lower lip between his teeth. He doesn’t want to admit just yet that he’d come partly _because_ of what Blaine had said.

“You don’t need to be ashamed,” Kurt replies softly. He looks at the retro clock on Blaine’s dresser, counts his heartbeats in his head alongside the ticking. “I was afraid that you calling me…that meant that you didn’t want me anymore.”

Blaine looks like he’s just been slapped, and he reaches out quickly for Kurt’s hand, takes it, and asks, “What—why on earth would you think that?”

Kurt shrugs. It’s ridiculous, but he’s also still insecure, no matter how many times that he and Blaine say _I love you_ to each other. “I was afraid when it happened, since you weren’t looking at me, that it meant you were imagining someone…older. Someone who could actually fit the description.”

Now that he’s said it out loud it sounds absolutely ridiculous. But Blaine doesn’t say anything, just leans in and presses his lips gently to Kurt’s. They stay that way until they have to breathe.

“I don’t want someone older,” Blaine says. His eyes are rounded and huge in their intensity. He traces the backs of his fingers over Kurt’s cheekbone, the dip of the smooth skin of his cheek and then to the hard line of his jaw. “I just want you. This thing is more about authoritative power and domination and taking care than it is about age, and you just _do that_ for me. And since we’re being honest”—he laughs, looking embarrassed again and like he’d give anything not to say what he’s going to say next out loud—“you’re who I’ve pictured being that person for me. You know. My daddy.”

He smiles lopsidedly, and Kurt can’t help the shiver at the word, the way his body reacts, like it’s finally alive. It had seemed so right from the moment that Blaine had said it, and now, hearing Blaine confirm it, hearing him lump _Kurt_ in with that closely-guarded kink, the thing that’s probably been on Blaine’s mind for months and that’s probably been in his late-night fantasies, makes Kurt yearn to take Blaine in that way _right now_.

Kurt feels suddenly bold, and he moves closer, climbs on top of Blaine’s lap and splays his hand out over the side of Blaine’s face. Blaine’s lips part, his jaw dropping slightly, and Kurt smile, leans down, and lets his lips brush over Blaine’s as he asks, fingers sliding through the soft hair behind Blaine’s ear, “Do you want me to be your Daddy, baby?”

Kurt remembers Blaine’s words about power, about domination and authority and being there to take care of Blaine, and pushes Blaine back, letting Blaine straighten his legs out before he’s grabbing Blaine’s wrists and pinning them above his head.

Blaine quickly goes limp, his body sagging into the sheets, and the rush that goes through Kurt nearly makes him dizzy. The tendons of Blaine’s wrists flex slightly under Kurt’s palm, and his blood rushes quickly down to his cock as Blaine looks up, his face relaxed, open, the lines in his forehead smoothed out. He looks so young, so vulnerable, like a beautiful spring flower just waking up.

“Yes,” Blaine says belatedly, his voice pitching just a little higher. He locks eyes with Kurt, doesn’t look away as he breathes, “Yes, Daddy.”

Kurt shivers and bends down to kiss away the knowing smirk on Blaine’s lips.


End file.
